Eating Cows’ Trotters — كوارع

 

My first memory of “kawareaa”, or cows’ trotters, as a young boy in Egypt was that it was aphrodisiac food. I learned that from Arabic movies, not from home, as we never made it, hence I had never tasted or even seen it. I can say the same about brains and testicles, both are consumed in Egypt among other areas. Also the fact that for 20 long years “home” was a five-star hotel — since my father was a General Manager — had certainly limited our exposure to such kind of food. “It’s good for your knees”, they would repeat about kawareaa in the movies. Considered of lower quality cut, cattle’s feet are usually consumed by the less fortunate. Ironically, my own experience only took place after dropping the meats almost five years ago.


In Western cuisine the trotters are not included in the common cut of beef, which only recognises shanks, and are not consumed as much. The cut, though, is often included as part of the beef shank. 



But in many other regions and cultures around the world, like Egypt, it’s a different story. They are actually part of various traditional dishes in Asian, African, French, Caribbean, and South American cuisines — even considered a delicacy. Whether from Zimbabwe, Uganda, Pakistan, Indonesia, Morocco, Turkey or Egypt, Googling “Cow’s Trotters/Cows Trotters/Cows’ Trotters/Cow’s Trotter/Cow Trotter/Cow Trotters” will lead you to many different international recipes, showing how widespread the phenomenon is.

Other than cattle, the trotters of goat, sheep, and pigs are cooked in similar ways and are equally consumed.

On a similar note, chickens’ feet, too, are edible. In Jamaica, for instance, they constitute the main ingredient of a traditional soup. On the other side of the world in China, chickens’ feet are everywhere: Deep fried, in soups, dim sum and stews, and are even sold seasoned and packaged as snacks. So it seems humans are not that selective when it comes to eating animals’ feet. 




An exotic dish I actually cooked twice — while living alone on a Red Sea beach for two and a half years — was the 28-ingredients Louisianian Jambalaya. The history and recipe can be found in New Kreation: Jambalaya with Salmon and Shrimps. 


Health wise, bone marrow is known to be packed with protein, calcium, phosphate and magnesium; along a quite a high percentage of fat — about 96 percent. When cooked, the resulting broth is a nutrient-dense liquid full of vitamins, proline, gelatin, and minerals. Some of the health benefits of bone marrow include helping build the overall immunity, a reason why it’s a common old-fashioned remedy against the flu. 

Due to the gelatin it contains, bone marrow alleviates joints pain while promoting healthy bones. For the same reason, it is said, it keeps the skin healthy and hair shiny as well as reduces wrinkles.


Bless the Internet, as I was writing this piece, an article titled A Bone a Day Keeps the Doctor Away? posted by the Neuroscience News and Research page I follow on Facebook appeared in my feeds. I have taught myself how to get used to these synchronicities, so I stopped registering and labelling such occurrences as “random”, resulting in much less head-scratching. What I do is thank the creative writing gods for their constant support and get on it.

As for the science article, it reviews a new study published in the Journal of Agricultural and Food Chemistry (ACS), which suggests that the use of ham bones to make broths and stews could have a positive impact on cardiovascular health. It also explains why simmering animal bones is regarded healthy in slightly technical terms. 

Historically, bone marrow is considered one of humanity’s earliest super foods. Apart from the widespread notoriety of being an aphrodisiac, cow foot stew is also recommended as a hangover cure. So there was some truth to the old Arabic movies after all — it was always seen served to newlyweds on their first day together or even on their wedding night. You know, because the hanky panky requires energy and calories.  



Again in Jamaica, the birthplace of reggae music, cow foot stew is a signature dish, usually served with broad beans. Remarkably, the consumption of feet in the Caribbean goes back all the way to the 1600s, when first created during the days of slavery. Because apparently plantation owners would take the best parts of the animals for themselves and leave the “fifth quarter” — head, feet, tail, internal organs and skin — for the slaves.


The last two bones after he devoured the first one in less than a minute.
I couldn’t help handling this stare and just gave them to him. Nommm

Back to my own experience with kawareaa, or lack of it more likely. I was in my early 30s when I moved to Canada and got into cooking. From how to properly marinate Sirloin steaks to preparing oxtail soup, which took me about four hours to make, it was a blast. This time of Renaissance was also when I began eating many of the vegetables I had one day as a child rebelliously decided I did not like and stopped eating.

Check my earlier article Arugula: The Healthy Ancient Aphrodisiac for more. Yes, I’m seemingly fixated on learning and writing about natural aphrodisiacs. Because why not.



Fast-forward to three years when I moved to the U.S and dropped the meats. ... I came to Cairo once and told Bassima, our long-time cook and former nanny, that I wanted to eat kawareaa. 



“Are you sure?” She asked. “I think it will be only for you and your dad” — excluding mother and sister [because kawareaa is too icky and yucky for them as it was for my late grandma among many other people].

What I came to learn from that first time we made kawareaa at home is that trotters contain no muscles or meat; instead, it consists of skin, tendons, and cartilage. When cooked — for a long time — the soft, chewy gelatinous tendons and skin become the tasty edible part, while broth is produced. But the real rich flavour comes from within the marrow. Similar to oxtail, it’s the reason why it requires hours to cook.


Also like oxtail, a dense, hearty soup often accompany kawareaa, which was how I had it the first time. I must say I did enjoy the experience, especially that, by that time, meat was something I ate on rare occasions. So apart from the richness, I equally enjoyed trying something new. It’s truly invigorating to be experimental. You see, if you like it, great; if not, then at least you know. Real win-win situations, which always remain educational. That’s a general life philosophy, not just about food.

A year later during another trip Bassima made kawareaa in fatta ( فتة كوارع ), which is a combination of rice, bread, garlic, vinegar, and yoghurt. This time as seen in the featured photo above, she kindly made both. And I devoured it all. Nom Nom Nom. One feels so energetic afterwards. 



As I experimented with arugula after consuming it to test the claim of the plant being an aphrodisiac, this time I also engaged in coitus after the meal. In fact, the young woman and I both had kawareaa, but then we totally passed out, for like an hour or so. Thing is, we had been drinking wine before, so the hearty meal came in and knocked us out. Upon revival, though, we went at it like beasts. So to report, the sex happened to be amazing, because you do feel the gained energy. Of course, the Placebo Effect could have very well affected our performance. Mayhap a certain degree of both were equal partners in the equation. Hm, I kind of miss that wild passion.

What Dahab the Lab left from the first two golf-sized bones

I have learned from my late Cocker Spaniel Caramella and others that dogs love marrow bone. In fact, it is one of the popular flavours for treats. So after finishing the whole kawarea meal I kept the bones for Dahab, but then forgot about them. At some point during the evening while at the kitchen he casually stood up on his hind legs against the counter, trying to reach the plastic container with the bones. He never gets up like that; the scent of the marrow bones must had been tickling his nose. Before I reached the counter he had already managed to grab the biggest two in his mouth and back down to devour them on the kitchen floor. I just let him enjoy and went to get the camera, as I kept the other three for the following day.

Then and there I was once again reminded by how Caramella wouldn’t leave the kitchen unless most of the bones have disappeared. Sometimes while cleaning the house, say a couple of weeks later, I would find a piece of leftover dried-out bone under the bed or carpet. So when Dahab tried to exit the kitchen with them in his mouth, probably to go enjoy them somewhere more comfortable like the living room, I refused and forced him to get back in. A couple of minutes later and they were totally annihilated. Ploof! 


After all that was recounted, my sister thinks I’m weird. “So you don’t usually eat normal meat or chicken and then you eat kawarea and liver,” she exclaimed more than once. 

I tell her that I’m doing it for the sake of experience, like a cultural experience gained through my travels. To also entice my senses while occasionally messing around with my taste buds and entire nervous system. I’m also sharing a meal with the doggo as our ancestors did in the wild. OK, fine, I am weird.  



*EDIT 2025:

My sister had become a dedicated carnivore and kaware3 became a delicacy she truly enjoys. Ta-Da. 

Slurp Slurp, no mo bony for doggo?!

ALSO VIEW:
 

The Meaning Behind Different Colours of Egg Yolks

From Ritsa to Uni: a Sea Urchin Story

 

New Kreation: Jambalaya with Salmon and Shrimps

 

The Origin of Ashoura Dessert — aka Noah’s Pudding 

Arugula: The Healthy Ancient Aphrodisiac

The Intertwining of Music and Sexuality ― A Djembefola’s Tale

The Difference Between Mandarin, Tangerine, and Clementine

What’s the Story with Blue Balls (and Blue Vulva)? 

Dropping Two Waist Sizes in a Few Months

Kicking That Sweet Habit: Why and How to Drop Sugar

New Kreation: Onion-n-Garlic Pasta with Mussels and Other Yummy Stuff

New Kreation: Veggie Pasta

Cooking My Catch, Finally ― Pasta with Calamari [With Video and Recipe]

New Kreation: Sliced Baked Potatoes with Herbs

 

 

Izzy The Egyptian American Doggo [Video]

Dogs I get to spend time and connect with always have a special place in my heart. Because their lives are quite short, every once in a while I hear the news about one of them passing on to Doggo Heaven. Recently it was Shay the Saint Bernard, before that was my own Caramella, and sadly this time it’s Izzy, or Izabella, who belonged to my second cousin Teymour.

Luckily, though, I shoot and keep a whole lot of photos and videos; many of which are of those lovable canines. When they are gone, these memories serve well by reminding us of how great it was to have such faithful companions in our lives, even if for a relatively short time. Other than a few photos, there is also a video at the end of the article which I created out of some footage of Izzy.


Izzy’s story begins in 2004 in the streets of Cairo, Egypt as a tiny abandoned half Baladi-half Husky puppy. Baladi is the Egyptian word for stray, which literally means “my country”; it could also be used as a derogatory term meaning vulgar or lacking in taste.

Teymour was visiting from Michigan when he found her all alone under a car in Maadi, so he rescued and took her home. Around the same time, he would come hang out at my place and ended up spending a few nights, along with Izzy. She was so small and helpless, that I didn’t really mind her regular pee stains and tiny poopies around the house, even though the guy was always cleaning up behind her and apologising. 

I remember we called one of the local vets, Dr. Rafik, who issued a certificate stating that she’s younger than six-weeks old. Then called the airport to inquire about the procedure; and they said no extra paper work was needed due to the young age. That was simply it as off they both went. He took her to Michigan and started a new life together. A rescued Egyptian stray just “immigrating” and becoming American. A dream coming true for many humans. Kudos to Teymour.

T and pup Izzy fresh off Maadi’s streets, 2004

Fast-forwading to almost 10 years in February 2014 when I went to visit T in Michigan. It was one harsh winter; my loving dog had recently passed away, I had to leave Canada after three years of visa renewal, and the relationship I was in didn’t seem like it had any future. I had began writing the book and had no other option than to just keep going. So I got on the road coddiwompling across America for a few months before ending up in Venice Beach in Los Angeles. 

But before that I got to spend about six days with Teymour and Izzy. There wasn’t too many things to do in Birmingham, Michigan, especially without a car, and especially in such cold. So in the mornings T would go to work and I spend the entire day at home with the dog. A lot of time to connect.

The night I first arrived she was showing her teeth, something she usually did according to T. Nothing too aggressive, but untrusting. She obviously didn’t remember me as she was literally three or four weeks old back then.

Being alone in the house with a dog person who was tremendously missing his recently departed dog meant that there was lots of contact and body language play between us. Eventually I gained her trust, but it was a gradual process.

Assessing the situation, the first thing to consider was her breed. She is a Baladi stray dog after all, even though also being a Huskey mix. Those wild ones are pack-oriented and tend to get territorial; without enough time socialising with humans as well as other dogs they wouldn’t learn how to become friendly, which happened to be the case. 
 
The following step was to establish my dominance as a pack leader. So when she slightly bit my hand on that first morning, I knew what was needed. A jog. In the snow. In the middle of nowhere. Rocky Balboa mode!

I also showed no signs of fear or panic; just more determination to add her with some love.... and discipline.
 
I asked Teymour for the outdoors collar and leash, got them on her, wore my Adidas, gloves and beanie and headed out there. 

Getting ready before that first run and commemorating it

From the sheer excitement and energy level, I could tell that Izzy had probably never been taken out for jogs before. Being confined to the house for long hours while the owner is out working is something I know quite a few things about. Just like us humans, dogs get bored and lonely and should all should get enough time outdoors. Though the house garden is not really considered outdoors. Again, because there is little to no socialising. 

For certain dog breeds, exercising is actually essential to remain healthy, sane, and most importantly, to feel useful. Running, walking, or hiking together can be also be a great and healthy way to bond. Not only because the furry ones need to move, but also because this is how they look up to you as a pack leader. Seeing your physical capabilities will earn their respect.

Besides, it’s pure joy to be outdoors with our canines; regularly connecting with nature is one sure way to sharpen their senses.

Actually I had done the same with the Saint Bernard Gentle Giant in Toronto a few years earlier. Though I had much more time with Shay, rather than just a few days with Izzy. 

That said, I made sure the run wouldn’t be too long, since it’s the first — maybe 2.5 miles or so. Once back home, she was visibly calmer and more docile.

By the second run she was adapting and clearly enjoying her time outside of the house. The enthusiasm and anticipation showed all over her eyes when she would hear the sound of the collar and leash. This time it was a bit longer.

The remarkable thing is that it was a two-way thing. As mentioned, I had just lost my Cocker Spaniel after 8 years together; for us, too, moved from Egypt to Canada. It was quite a love story. So as much as handling Izzy seem to have worked for her, the experience was almost therapeutic to myself as well.

Additionally, it was a way to start moving again, with a dog. Following Canada and before being back to the States I spend six weeks in Egypt with no exercising and lots of yummy food — after being away for three long years during which I was cooking every single day. So I needed to get back in shape after regaining my health. 

Iz, Izzy yum yum, Biz, Bizzy, Bizznass, Zakia, Zakia-Hanem, and Stinker Bell
were different nicknames

Izzy and I enjoyed three runs during this short stay in Birmingham. Naturally, this led to more bonding and more trust. She was slowly becoming more playful and less aggressive. She seemed happy as she would wag her tail, giving me her squeaking toy to play with. I showed her that, first, I’m not afraid of her growling. Second, that playfulness is indeed good and healthy. In fact, it is needed for a dog’s well-being. 

The last thing I made sure to do is to let her know she’s a good girl as often as possible. Because I know how Love is capable of changing everything.

As written in Things I Wish All Dog Owners Would Understand, when you reward your dog with a simple “good girl/boy” they really do act as a good girl/boy. In fact, researchers have found that social interactions make pet dogs release Oxytocin — the same “love hormone” that humans feel when they are in love or bonding with friends. So that was something I had in mind whenever I would come across her around the house.

You can see the progression in the video below: How at start she growled and barked after coming in from the garden so I can give her a treat. I didn’t take any of that, and using body language I showed her who is the dominant one. It worked and Izzy Iz submitted to what iz.

Later — the part where I was telling her story — the bared teeth still showed a little but she was much more playful and submissive, bringing me her toy to share. In fact, in the dog world this may be called a submissive grin or even smile. By the time I was comfortable enough to playfully spank her butt as I used to do to Caramella.

Then finally looking relaxed lying down with one paw tucked under, no teeth. Because she was a good girl.

Fierce look captured during one of our tête-à-tête days at home 

On a Friday, Teymour took me to Detroit for the day. While he spent it at the head office, he got me in touch with a hippie-minded friend of his who ended up showing me around the city.

She was a lovely Egyptian American girl who also had another American friend with her. Equipped only with a camera, we went Downtown, visited the Botanical Garden, and the historical Belle Isle Casino. I remember we met other people at this coffee shop; and when I shared that I am just travelling around without any plans, they sympathetically said: “Auwh, he’s homeless”. I had never thought about it that way, but yes, homeless it was.

Another day, Teymour and I went out to some fun party/exhibition when we double dated. It was followed by a fancy dinner somewhere.

By the end my stay, the bonding wasn’t just with Izzy or just with T, but with both. I left Birmingham without knowing anything other than my next destination: Denver, Colorado. In fact, only because Teymour suggested it as we chillaxing at home a couple of days prior. This was February of 2014 and marijuana legalisation there was just beginning. So considering that I would probably enjoy this new American Amsterdam, he shared the idea, and Denver it was.

I first had to head back to Sycamore, Illinois where my main luggage was — at a kind friend I had met online, Ahmed. Yeah.     

Once ready, I headed to Chicago and got on a train for an 18-hour ride to the Mile High City. It was a lovely the experience as it was my first time to sleep in a train. I had a tiny cute cabin, including dinner and breakfast, served at the “restaurant”. There, I met a Canadian couple and we genuinely began chatting.

While I met Teymour a few times since then, it was the last time I saw Izzy. Just a couple of weeks ago, she went on her next journey, joining Caramella and Shay and all the dogs that have ever lived. Ah. 

 

From the streets of Maadi to Michigan, this doggo was given a new beginning and a wonderful life. May her lovely soul Rest In Peace.

ALSO VIEW:

A Dieu Caramella

Training a Gentle Giant — Shay The Saint Bernard

Things I Wish All Dog Owners Would Understand

Why Cats Are Not Dogs

When Lady Ran Away

When The Puppies Ate The “Chocolate”

The Most Loyal Dogs in History

Some Animals I Shot

From Insects to Crows: Dogless and Searching for Companionship

One thing I’m truly yearning for these days is a loving furry companion. I think I’m ready now that four years had gone since the passing of Caramella. However, because I haven’t yet ‘settled’ anywhere, it wouldn’t be fair to get a dog. As such, you find me looking for connection in all sorts of weird places.




It started with ants a few years ago when I briefly resided at my aunt’s pace in Los Angeles. This ended with writing three well-researched pieces about some of the odd behaviours of these magnificent creatures: Why Ants Carry Their Dead and Other Fascinating Facts and Ants Carry Other Live Ones As Means of Transportation. 

When I later shared a lovely Venice Beach bungalow I was blessed by a couple of temporary mates who had their dogs that I used to take for almost daily walks: Blackjack shown in the featured collage and Lady the Shiba Inu. In Cairo, when I go back for visits there is my sister’s cat, also shown up there. In addition to three of my cousins’ dogs who throughout the years became walking companions. 

The following encounters with other life forms were back in L.A with bees and other insects, which I happened to save from drowning in the pool. 

I even befriended one for a good 15 minutes.

After that, it was the fruit flies (Drosophila melanogaster) who love sipping on me wine and getting drunk. They truly go berserk around it. They are also into fermented fruits, like ripe bananas, but the attraction seems different in nature. Since this happens indoors, I got more time to study and film the little buggers. I even gave them names in an effort to identify them. Laurel and Hardy pictured in the below photo were two. 



A repeated happening with fruit flies is that they would get into the glass of rosé wine, keep sipping over a period of time until they’re tipsy and unable to escape. This is when I usually take notice — when my time comes to sip. If they are still outside the wine itself I tilt the glass with an angle, making it easier for them to fly out, which usually works. But sometimes they’re too plastered, so I use my finger to gently escort them. Yep.

Buzzed Laurel and Hardy waiting atop a covered glass of rosé wine:
The Elixir of Life

Other times, the drunkards are already swimming in. Like many, back in the days I would throw the drink. Now, never. I get a spoon and gently pick them up, then place them on a solid surface, giving them time and space to come back to life. I did this many times and filmed it twice. It does feel good to watch them fly again. Though if the glass is left for too long they just drown.



After a while I learned to cover the glass with a tissue. Even though if left long enough, they would sneak from the tiny gaps underneath and find a way in, but never out. Like a concerned parent, I began using something more solid like a paper or coaster. But then I would feel sorry for them, remembering how I personally enjoy drinking wine. Wine-not share? 



I would remind myself of the same when having them around ‘bugs’ me, that with a single hand gesture I could easily end their lives. But do I have to? “Understand that this is what a two-month life is for these harmless tiny ones,” I’d ponder before going back to the peaceful, non-bloody method.   



Eventually, by the end of this coexisting I wanted to think that the survivors fruit flies may be aware that I helped and save them from a certain death; that they have sentience. The others with whom I shared drinks, maybe they know that I’m the one who offers them their food source, which they love to death — pun intended. 


As a result of these interactions I was also inspired to write Animals Getting High: Weird Nature ― Peculiar Potions. 

The little one who befriended me after saving it from drowning in the pool

As usual, the more you dig, the more things get unusually interesting. Further observation revealed that fruit flies possess sophisticated senses; how they smell through antennae rather than noses, which help them detect odours in the air; also how they use visual and olfactory cues to navigate and locate food sources.

It turned out that fruit flies are useful organisms for studying the neural mechanisms of their navigation behaviours. A reason why from UCLA to the University of Washington, there is a significant amount of studies involving them, their poppy-seed brains, and how efficiently they use their mere 200,000 neurons — as opposed to 300,000 for house flies and billions for humans.

For the curious, more readings can be found on this “fruit flies” link on Popular Science with a selection of different articles. 


The last insect species to try to interact with is a tiny little spider in the bathroom, which I named Spy. I didn’t relocate it outdoors as I normally do with most insects found inside. You know, it’s cold these days, so I let it hang in. It’s quiet, keeps to itself, and always in that same upper corner. I even greet it with a high-pitched “Hey Buddy!” every time I go to the bathroom. 

Compared to fruit flies, spiders live much longer — up to two-three years, with most dying after one year.

Ultimately, after months of interactions and research I wrote a story including some of these insects, which one day could become an animated film with a witty existential twist.  



All that said, insects are a different order of life as we know it. Their relatively small sizes make their world almost invisible to us … until we come into contact. These ‘relationships’ I am recounting herein are certainly cool and they teach one a whole lot. Personally, they polish my observation skills while reminding me of what pure awareness is.

But, unless perhaps we’re talking about preying mantis or jumping spiders as pets, the rest of the insects are missing some reciprocation or mutual connection when dealing with us humans. Let alone the fact that they are short-lived — the encounters themselves as well as the lifespan of insects in general. More is needed.

Whether Spy is a Spiderman or a Spiderwoman, it doesn’t matter.
At least we’re under the same roof.



Crows were all over the Gezira Club where I used to play as a kid in Cairo. They seemed like wily, opportunistic birds who would steal unattended hotdogs and burgers right out of the bun. They had another role in my childhood, which is through the poem Le Corbeau et le Renard (The Fox and the Crow) of Jean de La Fontaine, originally one of Aesop’s fables. La Cigale et la Fourmi was another which had equally invaded my growing imagination.

We know from legends, literature, mythology, and folklore that crows/ravens get a vile rap among birds. Often associated with bad omens, witches, and death, in various cultures and religions they are a symbol of bad luck and the mortal world.

But for younger me, crows were never regarded as aggressive or unfriendly, or even ominous. Instead, they aroused my curiosity as I somehow found something mystical and msyterious about them. What’s more is that I sort of sympathised with them because le corbow lost his piece of cheese to the wily renard. So he was the one who learned through loss and experience. 
 
Later on in life, I came to know how these fascinating birds are remarkably intelligent and adaptable creatures — solving elaborate puzzles and problems — and how they can befriend humans. At the top of the intelligence list, the entire corvid family of crows, ravens, and jays (genus Corvus) along with parrots are considered the ultimate brainiac birds. The genus also includes rooks, jackdaws, magpies, treepies, choughs, and nutcrackers. 


Another notable poem which more mature me was introduced to is Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven
.

My own human family once had a pet African Grey parrot, Chico, for 18 years — the last six he moved to my place. So I can more or less say I know how it is with birds. They are no dogs or cats, which they could sometimes outsmart, but they are no insects either. A reason why many people have them as pets.

More recently, I heard of an 8-year-old Seattle girl who would regularly feed crows in her garden, so as thank yous in return they kept getting her all sorts of small shiny gifts. From beads, buttons, paper clips to ChapSticks, coloured pieces of seaglass, with the favourite of the trinkets being a little heart pendant. How cute is that. Seriously.

Apparently, however, the girl’s parents are now facing a lawsuit because the neighbourhood does not seem as amused as everyone who read the viral Story or watched the Video from all over the world.

Quoth the Raven “Nevermore”



As mentioned with insects, the more you follow your curiosity by wondering and inquiring, the more things get interesting. The following are some compelling facts about crows:

• Crows recognise individual faces. So they recall those who was kind and who have wronged them; accordingly they can hold grudges. 

• They inherit the land — habitat — from their parents, sometimes going back to hundreds of years in one location.

• They can mimic the human voice just like some other birds.

• A group of crows is called a murder — which does not help much their alleged notorious reputation. Today some scientists argue that it is time to find another term because a “murder of crows” keeps feeding the public’s negative outlook on the animals. I do agree with that.


• They adapted to our modern life so well, they have been widely seen to drop uncracked nuts on busy streets from the air, so that passing cars do the job. Naturally, this shows they grasped the concept of traffic light. Red fly; Green OK. 

• Crows have regional dialect, which they can deliberately change.
  
  
• Crows are different than ravens. The cousins may look quite similar, but there are differences between the two birds. Discussed herein, we have the American crow (Corvus brachyrhynchos) and the common raven (Corvus corax). Ravens are larger in size and are more solitary, usually seen in ones and pairs. As for crows, they are normally found in larger groups. In addition, the shape of their tails as well as the sound of their calls are slightly different. the latter distinctions may remain hard to tell apart by the average person.
  
  

More can be found in the 2005 book by John M. Marzluff and Tony Angell: In the Company of Crows and Ravens.

Sweet Chico

With all that in mind, when this dogless dude saw a few crows hanging around close to his place he thought that maybe he should try to befriend them. According to the many sources on Google, they eat a whole lot of different things. From frogs, lizards, insects, to mealworms, crickets and mice, or “anything else they can catch and swallow”. They also like fresh fruits. 



Then fruits it was, since I don’t carry around any of the other items on the menu. The first time I had some peaches, like half one. I stepped outside and walked towards the side street where I usually spot the crows and just stood there watching. A couple of minutes through, one appeared above by the tree.

Now here was I wearing nothing but a swim suit while spreading my arm ahead with the peach in hand, trying to get the wild bird attention with all sorts of weird noises. I whistled first; then tried waving my hand like a street crazy listening to some music only him can hear. I wondered what would onlookers think, but I honestly didn’t care much as I was fixated on the experience.

After maybe 10 minutes I left the peach on the ground and went back inside. Two hours later it was still there. Another two hours and still there, so I picked it up and threw it in the garbage. 



Weeks had passed and I am still dogless and still yearning for connection. Hm. It’s winter as it is also the holiday season, all the fruit flies drinking buddies who kept me company have died. O’ The sorrow. Then, there is Spy the spider just minding his or her own business in that corner. Yet there is no dog or even a kitty cat around to share its love with me. Maybe the smart, social crows would.



I got out once more with the intention to feed some birds, or just one, this time with grapes. I looked around up and down and all around, but couldn’t see any for 10-15 minutes. So back in again.




After more digging, I learned that sunflower seeds is something crows eat. I had some, so on another day I went out with the full plastic box and stood there under the trees. This time I tried called them by shaking the container; you know, as you do with dogs and cats. No birds though, but the mailman passed by and gave me a funny look. 



I then decided that timing their visits is probably essential, so I began noting down the hours when they come visit. Obviously this will require time along some trial and error; but eventually if the patterns are carefully observed, then one could find and feed them.

“How to befriend a crow?” was another Google search, and the answers were more or less saying the same:

“The best thing you can do is put out peanuts consistently and don’t look directly at the birds when you do so (at least initially). Be conspicuous about you being the one to drop the food, but do not throw the food toward the crows or look at them initially, but do make sure they are in the area. Then, go back inside.”

 It seems that the key to success lies in establishing a regular feeding schedule.

Other articles are more like step-by-step guide for those who want to make friends with crows. Apparently lots of people are allured by the birds I’m actually flabbergasted from the amount of information available online. 

Finally spotted at 15:15

Amusingly, while finalising this article I still didn’t have a photo of a crow. I was leaving it as a last step, thinking that I could probably settle with one off Google or Wikipedia. After all, all other photos are mine. But then, I took the sunflower seeds and went out for one last trial.

This is when I saw that a flying black bird was sort of eyeing me — as soon as I stepped out. It is like it has been waiting for that moment. First thing I did was to wiggle the sunflower seeds plastic container to attracts its attention, and it did. The bird proceeded to rest up there by the wire, still keeping an eye on where I was located. I then swiftly went in to bring the camera. Once out, I started again with the wiggling and I could see that it was carefully watching me. Between handling the camera while trying to open the container at the same time, the bird flew away. I still kept some seeds on the ground before going in.    

Back out after a couple of hours, the sunflower seeds were gone. All of them. Tomorrow at 15:15 I will go out, making the sound noises and leaving the same seeds in hope to set a regular feeding schedule.

This time, two of my next-door neighbours passed by, looking at me with intrigue. I told them that “I’m writing an article about crows”. Aha.

Let us see what shall follow next and how the tail will unfold. What if I get to befriend the bird and then one day, after a moment of silence, it looks at me and says: “Nevermore”? Or maybe it’ll communicate in French, asking why did the fox take the cheese. Either way, if something does occur you will certainly know about it.

Until then, I still remain yearning for a doggo ... or any close companionship.

“I’m looking for love all around me
Looking for love to surround me
The love that I need
To rescue the state of my heart”

— Whitesnake, Looking For Love

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Guiding Ants Out Of The Kitchen...Alive

 

Befriending a Flying Insect

 

Encounter With a Drowning Fruit Fly

Reviving a Drowning Bee [Video] — Learning the Do’s and Don’ts

Animals Getting High: Weird Nature ― Peculiar Potions [Documentary] 

A Dieu Caramella  

 

Training a Gentle Giant — Shay The Saint Bernard  

Things I Wish All Dog Owners Would Understand

Some Animals I Shot

Why Cats Are Not Dogs

When Lady Ran Away

Izzy The Egyptian American Doggo [Video]

When The Puppies Ate The “Chocolate”

A Dieu Caramella

I always remember my younger sister wanting a dog while growing up. My parents never allowed it and their excuse was that we were living in a hotel, since my father was a General Manager for over 20 years. However, the real reason that I knew of was that both of them had their own dogs when younger and had really suffered from the loss. King my father’s German Shepherd and Cookie my mother’s Poodle, as I knew them from the stories and photos.

The following piece was written exactly four years ago right after the passing of my Cocker Spaniel Caramella. Only when it was published did I begin healing. I would not be exaggerating if I said that I still think of her every single day, especially now that I reside in Venice Beach where everyone has a dog. Getting a new one is a huge decision, though I think I may be ready. The only thing that is making me wait is that I need to settle first before engaging in such a sincere commitment.


I have been an animal lover for as long as I can remember, getting along with all of them and watching nature documentaries. The family had Chico, an African Grey parrot, for ten years before I took him for another seven years when I started living by myself till he unexpectedly passed one day. But until my mid 20s I had never owned a dog. Then in early 2005, an ex-turned-friend got a six-months old female English Cocker Spaniel that she named Caramella.

As the pup was growing the bonding came naturally with her. I started taking her out to the sporting club every now and then where she would socialise with other dogs, run around the golf courses, and keep me company — getting lots of attention in the process, to her and to myself. Those trips slowly developed into weekends since my friend could see how much the dog loved me and enjoyed her time when I was around. She also trusted me and knew that I would take good care of her Caramella.

Then it happened. My friend had to travel for a few months and left her with me. I was ecstatic to have such a loving companion, since I was, and had been, living alone for quite a while. We bonded even more during this time, as we went away on short trips to the deserts of Sinai and the beaches of the Northern Coast of Egypt. I introduced her to my friends and family who all loved her. Being dog people, both of my parents passionately fell in love too and enjoyed pampering her whenever they would meet. I could obviously tell how they were reminiscing about their own dogs.

Caramella had slowly become one of the rare pure joys in my life. Finding her waiting for me by the door when I come back home after long days of doing the unfulfilling jobs I held during those days was priceless. The excitement in the greeting itself every single day is a different story. O’ the sense of companionship I would feel on many cold nights when her warm, furry body leaned on my right leg as we shared the bed. She also became the main reason I forced myself to leave the house for a walk or to the nearby garden every day when the unhealthy hibernating mode would kick in.

At home in Cairo, 2007

By the time my friend was back I was already hooked, and I could say the same about Caramella. For a while, she was spending the weekdays with her ‘mommy’ while the weekend with her ‘daddy’ – almost like a child in custody. Driving to pick her up from there felt like going on a date. As soon as she sees my car, she rushes towards it pulling whoever is holding the leash behind her and I would open the door for her to jump on the seat then on my lap for a quick face-licking greeting session with those cute Cocker whines and whimpers. A real love story one could say.

Other times, she would be dropped at my house with her box of cooked food for the weekend, and it was always exciting to reunite.

I recall some people asking if it was confusing for the dog to have two masters. But I debunked the idea by doing some research and finding that during WWI, the dogs of war were trained to have two masters so they can take messages from one to the other. So clearly that wasn’t an issue.

During that same time, I remember that my friend realised that Caramella had become my weak point. So whenever we would occasionally fight, she would not let me take her for a while as a sort of punishment. But I was always finding a way because living completely alone is definitely not as fun as sharing the house with another soul, I must confess, especially after getting used to it. And of course a dog isn’t a parrot, not even a cat; I believe it’s a much more personal and mutual relationship.

But the thing with Caramella is that our relationship was even deeper. Because if I was going anywhere other than work, whenever leaving the house I would take her with me. Most people I know who own dogs only take them for short walks, if ever, then they have their own separate lives away from their pets. Some even confine the dogs to house gardens and fences.

On the other hand, I was taking her everywhere like it was my right to do so; family reunions, friends who never had dogs in their homes, even to other friends who aren’t really dog people…and to some shady areas, too, which I used to visit with my car. But because she was a lovely, well-behaved, pretty-looking creature, everyone automatically fell in love with her. She was even the cause a few people changed their opinions about dogs.

I also remember when Chico the parrot passed away and she kept crying by his cage for three days. They were very good friends who would play together around the house whenever he was out, though he was the dominating one because of his older age.

My attachment to that lovely creature kept growing throughout my darker days. The unconditional love I used to feel through the caring looks she would give me when things were tough was indescribable. She was actually what kept me going during my personal struggles, and a worthwhile reason for me to want to get out from the toxic lifestyle I was leading.

By that time, my friend had gotten another male Cocker, Simpson, along with her cat. So I used my convincing skills with some “Oh I’m so alone at home and you have your daughter and pets” to let me keep Caramella for good, and it worked. We would go visit her house then go back home…like a couple.

Nom Nom Nom

Two years later, I decided to leave the comfort zone I had always lived in behind and head to Canada for a fresh start. Of course by then, she had become a family member and a soul mate. Taking her with me was the only logical decision there was.

The then-six years old Cocker made it safe and sound to Toronto after a 17-hour flight including a standby in Amsterdam. The lucky bitch was even taken to a dog hotel for the six-hour layover. I remember joking with a hostess about wishing that I was a dog instead of spending this long time at the airport. Once arrived, we stood in line with my luggage and her kennel prepared with all the vet documents.

To my heart-warming surprise, after knowing that I’m carrying the dog with me all the way from Egypt, the kind lady at the desk let me in without paying the fees – telling me how sweet of me to bring her along. I was all smiles and took that as a good omen to a fresh start. I felt that Canada was welcoming us with open arms.

Canada was definitely a different experience. Fresh air, lots of greenery, parks and campgrounds, many other breeds of dogs and a thriving wildlife. It truly was a rejuvenating new beginning for myself and consequently for Caramella as well.

Fresh off the plane from Egypt on the first day in Toronto

During the first week, I remember our first trip to Pet Smart when she had a poopy attack. She was extremely well behaved and had rarely ever did it indoors, but there were so many different dogs and scents in that big warehouse, that I’m sure the sheer excitement made it impossible to hold it.

I also remember how she loved playing in the snow for the first time, and how chasing squirrels in the park while making those cute whines became her most exciting adventure.

Other than my ex-partner, her parents’ 150-pound Saint Bernard Shay and her own two Cavalier King Charles Spaniel puppies Tula and Butch, Caramella was the only companion in my new city of residence. We bonded even more for the next three years, and being the eldest, as well as because of her character, her and I were the Alphas of the pack. We repeatedly went camping and, unlike Egypt, spent lots of time outdoors taking photographs in the stunning wilderness.

The Family by Starbucks in Toronto

As usual, being the beautiful and gentle soul that she is, she became quite famous in my Toronto building and the whole neighbourhood for being the sweet dog that roams the streets without a leash. At the super market, the pet store, the local pub, everybody knew her name; they all loved petting her as much as she loved it. This of course isn’t the average sight you see in Canada, where dogs are required by law to be kept on a leash. Multiple times I was complimented by curious strangers about how well she was trained. They would ask about “The Secret”, and all I could say is that we’ve been together for a long time and I trusted her and she trusted me.

In truth, Caramella was a genuinely intelligent dog. If she’s walking behind, her attentive eyes would always be on me; and if she’s in front, she would wait at the intersections until I join and tell her to cross the street. Sometimes, she would even look to the left and right like humans when the side street next my building is empty, and we would cross together without me giving her any voice command. We had a smooth, mutual understanding and we communicated a lot though our body language.

Having her unleashed in the city was occasionally frowned upon, as regarded crazy or dangerous by some folks, in Egypt and in Canada. I was told “If I did this with my dog he would get run over straight away” on so many occasions that every time I would truly feel tempted to say “Well, she’s not your dog.”

One thing I really loved about her is that she brought so many smiles and sweet moments to the people she met. This naturally did me a lot of good because I would pick up on this contagious positive energy, for the happiness — and smiles — reached me too.

Fresh out of the shower on her new bed in TO

Soon after moving, I had started running with my older neighbour, Brent, and Caramella was always accompanying us through the many beautiful trails around Toronto. After few months of weekly training, we were able to cover around 17 Kms (10.5 mi) in two hours once on a Sunday morning. That was quite the achievement for the both of us for sure.

Mid those runs, she would spontaneously and fearlessly jump in the small lakes and ponds by the trail to freshen up while we wait for her to rejoin us. Sometimes the water was replaced by mud, and if she was too hot and had been running for 90 minutes she had no problem jumping in and coming out as dark chocolate Caramella. And I would let her, even if it meant that I have to give a new shower after the one from four days ago. Simply because after a few times, I reckoned that if she looks me straight in the eyes as I’m running towards her saying ‘NO’ and still jumps in, then she must be EXTREMELY hot and physically needs it to cool off.

Plus, dogs have to be dogs, and owners have to always remember that their pets are still animals that need to connect with Nature as much as possible. I was really loving those unleashed weekly outdoor jogs and everything was perfect.

Cooling off mid-jogs

Time had passed until one of those Sundays about three months ago when I was getting ready for the morning run. Usually Caramella would get excited from the sight of my running gear and would get up to stand by the door with anticipation. That day, there was no excitement at all, even with my high-pitched “we go runny with Brent” which never failed before. After a few trials, she got up and went to sit under the table where she usually rests. I took that as a sign of her telling me I don’t want to run, so I left her home.

The next Sunday I tried again, and the same response… turning around and sitting under that table. Coming from Caramella that was weird. She had always been an obedient dog and had always loved going out. She used to even follow me to the bathroom door and wait till I come out, so this was obviously an unusual behaviour.

Around those same days, she had already developed a small mammary lump from a while back so we went to visit the vet. We were considering removing it or not when we were chatting and I told him that we ran for 17 Kms not so long ago, only for him to look at me surprised. “You know she’s eight now, this is too much. My dog can only take 20 minutes or so,” he said.

OK then, note to self: she’s getting older and I should keep that in mind. I took her for two shorter runs afterwards and then stopped altogether when I saw how much she would get tired compared to relatively recent times.

My Facebook profile photo for something like four whole years
— Mazinaw Lake in Ontario, Canada

In the meantime, I had already started writing about dreams and the subconscious mind, and was recording my dreams. I realised that Caramella made it to perhaps three out of the five weekly remembered dreams. But it was always about losing her along with the fear and anxiety I would feel and remember when waking up.

I knew well that she’s very close to my heart and has become a soul mate, but I had no real explanation for those repetitive dreams. I was even wondering why don’t I dream of my parents whom I haven’t seen in three years or, say, my ex partner. Why dreaming of my dog so much? And why is it always about losing her? At the time, there were no dots to connect.

From talking to many dog owners and through the Internet, I knew that Cocker Spaniels may live till 14 and 15. So by the time she had started to lose her energy, I thought it was going to go downhill pretty slowly from there. I even had my own boyhood fantasies about her meeting my unborn children one of these days.

However, she started eating less and less everyday. I even changed her half dry-half wet food to cooked ground beef and chicken like she used to eat for her first six years. Still, she would eat for five minutes then go lie down away from the food, something she has never done before. She also started to sit much more often, even for those brief moments we’re waiting for the elevator, as well as at the park. Believing it’s all an ageing thing, I called the vet and asked a few other people if dogs normally eat less with age. They said it might happen with less energy but none of us suspected anything.

Then came the occasional vomiting and poop trouble, and she had lost about 2 Kgs. After consulting the vet, we stopped the antibiotic she was taking for some skin allergy because she wasn’t getting any better, and I was worried that it might be the cause of the complications. But you obviously know by then there was something wrong internally.

Maybe ten days later, we went again to the vet for some X-Ray only to find some tissues covering parts of the heart and lungs. As I understood from him, you cannot really tell what it is, but what you can tell is that something isn’t right by looking at the density displayed by the white/black effect on the X-Ray sheet. He said it doesn’t look too good. Hmm.

Another week had passed during which she deteriorated even more. Not much food, not enough energy, too quite and even depressed. Plus, she had started breathing from her stomach instead of her chest, and that’s another bad sign the vet had noticed during the last visit. Rapidly after that, the breathing became shorter and faster.

The question I didn’t think would come so soon started to loom on the horizon. Between my parents, close friends, partner and the vet, we all agreed that I will never let her suffer. Though I was still in denial that the end could be so soon. She was nine after all, and I was still thinking of all the much older dogs I met throughout my life. Part of me was still fantasising about her meeting the unborn children.

Coming to last week, she refused to eat for two days in a row. Also refused her favourite slice cheese, for the first time ever, which was another hit on the head. She was into all kinds of cheeses but she loved those slices so much — La Vache Qui Rit or Kraft — that she could hear me undo their plastic cover in the kitchen from far away and would come closer jiggling and wiggling, and giving me those “looks” that always made me melt.

…Sometimes late at night when she’s asleep, I would get myself a slice and make sure I open it slowly so she doesn’t wake up and realise I’m not giving her any. I succeeded most of the times, but because she occupied such a soft spot in my heart I would feel guilty, eat three quarter of the piece, and go wake her up with the remainder in front of her nose before we both go to sleep. Sigh.

So back to that second day she wasn’t eating…she had also refused some ground beef fed from my hand as well as all sorts of other doggy treats. That moment I remembered a chat I have had a while back with an older man at the local pub. We were talking about dogs’ mortality and how his dog had passed; apparently during his final days, the dog refused to take his medicine. “They will let you know,” he said. I believe Caramella was letting me know as well.

Other than not eating, she would often drink insane amounts of water, not moving much, and shaking on occasions. It was really hard seeing her like that and it was badly affecting me.

What Love!

If the vets didn’t know exactly, I really wanted to find out what it was all about. So later that night I Googled and within three minutes I found Dilated Cardiomyopathy, which is heart disease that affects Cocker Spaniels — among other breeds — where the muscle does not pump hard enough causing fluids to go back up into the lungs. By checking the symptoms, she had all nine of them. Symptom number 10 was sudden death!

The reality started creeping up on me, so I took the camera and carried her to the nearby park for some final shots... not before imbibing an insane amount of wine in an attempt to numb my feelings. She was so weak by then and not moving much. In between sadness and disbelief, I was capable of capturing a few shots until a group of three girls and a guy passed by, looked at us and said something. I automatically replied “It’s her final day.” It’s like I was looking for any sort of comfort, even from strangers.

They came closer and I said it again. They comforted me with their kindness and sat by my side for a few. The girl closer to me could see my red watery eyes before saying:

“Look I don’t know but I will hug you,” and she did.

It felt like a sparkle of light coming from out of nowhere. I said thank you and they walked away. Ten seconds later, they just turned around to ask me if I wanted them to take a few photos of Caramella and I. Of course I gladly agreed; gave them the camera, and smilingly shared that there are 16 GB free so “take as many shots as you want.”

The Final Encore

 

I then laid on the grass with her between my arms, just hugging her and gently playing around while the stranger girl was shooting and her friends watching and cheering for this final encore. The above photo is from that night.

I thanked them again, and I was actually pretty grateful they just popped up to leave me with such sweet memory. Though she was still able to walk but I preferred to again carry her home.

There was barely any sleep that night. At some point during the early hours of the morning we were awaken to Caramella puking all the water and fluids on the bedroom’s floor, as well as a little bit of blood in a separate area. I tried to comfort her, cleaned the floor and tried to get back to sleep but it was impossible. By now I really knew I had to do something, and soon.

It was this last Thursday when I called up the vet telling him about the latest news. He said he will be there till 5:45 if I wanted to pass by to give her THE shot; also that he won’t be back for a few days but his colleagues would be notified and ready if I ever made the call. I still couldn’t get myself to do it, but decided that I will be taking her the next day.

Fortunately, during those tough days two of my old friends happened to be visiting Toronto. They personally knew Caramella and having them around definitely eased the situation.


That Friday morning came and I kept looking at her, feeling a mix of emotions. Wanting to alleviate her pain but still can’t really believe that she will be out of my life in a few hours. This mirthful soul… my partner, my companion, my child…after all that, I’ll be here without her soon. It was one of those hard realisation that knocks you on the head.

I finally called the animal hospital by 12:30 and took an appointment at 3 pm. I remember wanting to say the word euthanasia but apparently my vocal chords had a mind of their own and didn’t want to obey the signals my brain was sending. After three trials, my voice was still hoarse, though I assume that by looking at the file, the nurse understood what I wanted to say.

Those couple of hours were spent reliving all our moments together, getting myself mentally ready for the farewell. Then I called a cab and started to caress her, massaging her ears as she has always adored. I was in a dazed state when carrying her to the car, yet I was determined to end the pain. We got there on time and they were waiting for us.

The metal table this time had a dark red wool cover on it and the vet came asking me if I wanted to leave or attend. I said I’ll be staying. He explained that he’ll take her inside to shave the hair on the arm for the needle and will bring her back here to proceed. He also asked if I wanted her ashes after the cremation, to which I replied with a confident NO.

Between some prayers, mantras, and trying to dry my sobbing eyes, I spent five minutes in the room by myself before they came back. I tried to brief him on what had happened lately since he’s not the same vet we had been seeing, but again, my voice wouldn’t come out right.

“It’s the right thing to do,” I forced myself to say, looking him straight in the eyes. He was nodding in agreement. I believe I was trying to get that final approval about taking that darn decision.

She looked so peaceful on that bed. Maybe for the first time ever as she would always want to move when the vet was examining her and I had to keep holding her. This time she was gently sleeping on her side, with her eyes a little foggy, but looking very ready and done with her journey. I could feel she wanted that relief. And in some subtle way, I was actually happy she was about to get it.

I then bent down and gave her a final kiss, told her I love her, that she’s a good girl, and until we meet again. Then signalled to the vet to carry on. He said it usually takes from five to ten minutes. I kept my hands on her and in less than one minute she had already departed this world. She must have been so close.

The vet left, telling me to stay as long as I wanted. Some more mantras, plus a final hug, another final kiss and a last look, then closed the door and left. The pain of ‘losing’ her was still there but her relief has relieved me. As I held her red collar and leash in my hands on the ride back in the cab, I realised that for the first time in a few weeks I could take a full breath without feeling that worry-ball inside the core of my chest.

I went home, gathered 12 of her best photos from throughout the years, wrote a few words and posted them on my Facebook wall in celebration of her life. I had already halted my work on the essay to write our story down in her honour and in loving remembrance. I needed to write these words to express my sentiments as well as my gratefulness for the years we spent together and for her sharing my journey.

The responses and sweet words I then received through comments, private messages, emails, and phone calls were truly heart-warming. I guess I never thought that so many people knew, and knew of Caramella. Through those lines, I would like to thank each and every one who reached out with their condolences and kindness. You certainly did make it easier on me.


Six days have now passed and I still keep looking for her around the room before remembering that she’s gone. I’m sure it will take some time before getting used to not having her caring eyes follow me around. This decision might be one of the most profound ones I have ever had to take in my life. Although it took me by surprise, but I know down deep inside that it was necessary and that it really was the right thing to do.

Change is the only constant in life, we need to accept it and move on in grateful remembrance. Among many other things, the whole experience of having Caramella for those several years had taught me what unconditional love is and what having a man’s best friend is really like.

Now more than ever, I remain a believer in Alfred Lord Tennyson words, “‘Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”

May you Rest In Peace, most beautiful soul. You will always have your own special place in my heart.


When I eventually went back to my writings and the dreams notes, it finally hit me like lightning. All those precognitive dreams of losing her before I even knew anything was a message from the dream world. It was my subconscious mind preparing me for what is yet to come. We know that ancient civilisations considered dreams to be nocturnal messages from the gods sent as omens for good fortune or disaster. And with this experience, as well as others, I now believe even more in the immense power of our dreams.


At the end, I would like to share with you the below poem which I received in the mail today, kindly sent by the animal hospital with a card and a note from our vet. How sweet.

I am the wind blowing through your hair
And the warmth you feel in the air.
When that smile creeps on your face,
Remember that I am in a good place.
And when you’re feeling sad and down,
Recall memories of me running around.
You don’t need to look low and high,
Just search way down deep inside.
And know that we’ll never be apart,
For I have left my pawprints on your heart.

EDIT: Five years following her departure I am still dogless, though I ended up with two cats. From Insects to Crows: Dogless and Searching for Companionship is another piece about how things have developed over time. There is also Why Cats Are Not Dogs as well as Izzy The Egyptian American Doggo.

 "Five dogs on the loose"

Watching over the kids on the beach

Notice that cheeky look she’s me giving while snapping the shot.
And it’s because I was telling her something about leaving her large-ass
towel and insisting on laying her head on the bed as
she always loved to do. I think she considered herself to be as human as all of us.

*Article originally published on Conscious Life News in September 2013

ALSO VIEW: 

Training a Gentle Giant — Shay The Saint Bernard

Things I Wish All Dog Owners Would Understand

From Insects to Crows: Dogless and Searching for Companionship

Izzy The Egyptian American Doggo [Video]

Why Cats Are Not Dogs

When Lady Ran Away

When The Puppies Ate The “Chocolate”

The Most Loyal Dogs in History

Some Animals I Shot

Animals That Are Not To Be Confused